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<title>Help Me Escape My Head by lonestarbabe (neverfeltlesscool), Pigeonsplotinsecrecy</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22842412">Help Me Escape My Head</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverfeltlesscool/pseuds/lonestarbabe'>lonestarbabe (neverfeltlesscool)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy/pseuds/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy'>Pigeonsplotinsecrecy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Carlos is very understanding, Depression, Dissociation, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, and TK doesn't understand why, let TK be happy, pretty grim but optimistic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:02:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22842412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverfeltlesscool/pseuds/lonestarbabe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy/pseuds/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After T.K. fails to save a little girl, he begins to spiral. Tempted to abuse substances and not knowing who else to call, T.K. calls Carlos just to feel less alone because he feels like he's losing his mind. All he needs is something to help him escape his mind if only for a night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carlos Reyes/TK Strand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>261</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Help Me Escape My Head</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sometimes, the person you set out to save didn’t make it. T.K. knew that, of course, he did, but it didn’t make it any less heart wrenching to feel the life go out of the little girl you’re trying to get away from her burning house. She’d been in her room, shouting to the lavender walls and trying to find the glow in the dark stars on her ceiling through the smoke. She was trapped by the inferno, clutching a raggedy teddy bear that her parents tried and failed to keep clean as the child dragged it with her everywhere. Jenna had been her name. Ducky had been the teddy, T.K. remembered as the thought of Jenna telling Ducky it would be okay looped through his mind. <em>The firefighters will save us, </em>she’d said sounding sure in the way only a six-year-old could. T.K. had swooped her up, trying to keep her calm as he took her from the house. She clutched her teddy bear, promising to save him. <em>I’m here, Ducky, </em>she said, <em>I’m here. </em>Her face was streaked with tears, but she kept herself as calm as she could for the sake of Ducky.</p><p>It was terrifying how quickly she had gone from reassuring her teddy bear to being unbearably quiet. Her body became limp against T.K.’s, and the teddy bear dropped from her hands, and T.K. couldn’t resist snatching it before it hit the floor because he knew how sad the child would be without it.</p><p>In the end, there was nothing anyone could do to revive her. A little girl was dead, and T.K. couldn’t help but think that it was his fault. He was supposed to save her, and he’d failed. His inability to save her would tear apart that family in ways he couldn’t imagine. The loss left the whole team sullen, but T.K. was crushed. The memory of her dying in his arms was relentless. The rush of saving someone was a high like none other, but losing a child was a crippling low, a low that T.K. didn’t want to face. He wasn’t going to deal with it until later, though. He had a shift to finish.</p><p>For the rest of T.K.’s shift, he ignored the feeling of dread building in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t let himself think about what had happened, even though his dad had suggested he head home and take some time for himself. He stubbornly refused and silently did whatever work he could find around the station even if it didn’t need to be done.</p><p>He worked out, pushing himself harder than his body could handle. He kept piling on more weight and doing more reps until Judd came rushing in, asking if he was crazy to lift so much without a spotter. T.K. didn’t say anything, and he moved onto the next workout apparatus. He needed to keep busy or he’d lose the semblance of being okay that he’d been clutching onto using denial. As T.K. worked out, Judd wouldn’t budge, hovering with a concerned look in his eyes. When T.K. nearly collapsed from exhaustion, Judd grabbed him by the arm and told him that he’d done enough for the day. T.K. shot him an annoyed look but remained quiet because if he opened his mouth, he’d be an asshole, and he didn’t want to fuck anything else up today.</p><p>T.K. pushed past Judd and sat in the quietest corner in the station. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to be talked to. He just wanted to forget. He wanted to sleep and never have to wake up, not in a <em>dying </em>way but in a not having to think kind of way. He was managing to block the memories of the day from his mind, but they lingered like dirt in the shower after having fallen in mud. They twirled and twisted in his head, repeating in maddening versions of the same heartbreaking thoughts.</p><p>When T.K. finally went home, Owen had stayed at work to finish up some work because sad or not, he had shit to do. He’d asked if T.K. needed him. Owen would always put his son first, and T.K. knew his dad would drop everything if T.K. asked, but T.K. didn’t want to ask. He wanted to be alone, and he wanted for his brain to stop. With a forced grin, T.K. told his dad that he was fine and went home to spend an evening with his own misery.</p>
<hr/><p>So now, T.K. is home alone, feeling an itchy helplessness that makes the urges to get drunk or high go from a dull ache in the back of his mind to a fiery obsession burning through his whole body. He can’t think of anything else, not even the little girl, as thoughts of getting away consume him. It’d be so easy to get drunk and not much harder to get high. A substance would break through the restlessness surging through his body. It would give him something to do when he is so bored and so anxious. But he can’t break his sobriety. His dad already has enough to deal with and T.K. doesn’t want to put himself through that again. He doesn’t want to start from square one. He doesn’t want to disappoint the people who care about him by messing things up as he always does.</p><p>He tries distracting himself. He browses Netflix, Hulu, and even Amazon Prime Video for something to keep his mind distant from his troubles, but in the thousands of shows and movies, he can’t seem to find anything that sparks any enthusiasm in him. All the content is <em>gray. </em>Even the colored films seem so black and white.</p><p>When television falls through, he tries listening to music, but even then, he changes the song every thirty seconds trying to find one that does something for him. Nothing works, and that thought makes him the most hopeless he’s been all evening because he can think of something that always works, something that’s bad for him but something so tantalizing.</p><p>He needs to escape his head for a while and shut down, so while T.K.’s brain is still trying to run destructive circles around the memories of the little girl, he forces himself into his bed. He clenches his eyes, hoping that the exhaustion creeping up on his body will allow him to sleep. As visions of smoke, purple walls, and teddy bears creep through his head, his eyes snap open, and he follows the swirls of the ceiling, which is enough to drive him crazy as his hazy mind struggles to keep thoughts compartmentalized. The temptation and the haunting thoughts muddle together in a cloying mix.</p><p>T.K. doesn’t think he can take it anymore. He needs a substance, a distraction, an escape. He needs to get out of his head and to stop feeling things so deeply. He doesn’t want to break his sobriety, he reminds himself. In fact, the thought makes him nauseous, but as minutes tick as slowly as hours, he needs to do something because if he doesn’t, he’ll start ruminating to fill the time, and when he starts ruminating, he’ll think of the little girl. He won’t just think of the shadow she left, but he’ll think of the full imprint. Thinking of that, well, it’s not something he can bear, not while he’s in this room alone with a thousand stupid thoughts liable to pop into his head. If he isn’t careful, he won’t survive the night. He’ll do something stupid just because he can’t stand being alert anymore.</p><p>He begins to talk to himself, barely letting his voice go above a whisper, because he hasn’t heard his own voice in hours. He mutters abstract thoughts until he feels dizzy from looping around what really bothers him. He’s starting to feel detached from his body. It’s not an out of body experience, exactly. He doesn’t feel like he’s looking down on himself, but it’s more like, he’s a tiny person sitting inside his skull in a little control room. He can see everything T.K. sees, but when he looks at his hands or his legs, he doesn’t feel a sense of belonging. He’s just controlling this distant body of someone he’s supposed to know. The darkness looms over him, and the room looks grainy like an old show in 240p.</p><p>He flips on the light because the dark makes his heart race and his mind fuzzy. T.K. stands up and looks into the mirror. His eyes are dead. He doesn’t see a human behind them. He certainly doesn’t see a person he recognizes. The features are familiar. He knows them to be his, but they look like a grayscale photocopy. He looks down at his yellow hoodie, and it’s probably the brightest piece of clothing he owns, but even that looks desaturated.</p><p>He wonders if he is dead and this is purgatory, and then, the idea won’t leave him alone. He fell out of favor with his religion long ago, but he still wonders if there’s something after life. Maybe this is it. You keep living but you’re alone and wandering aimlessly. If this is it, he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the way coldness fills his body or the hollowness in his chest. He doesn’t think he’s dead, but what if he is?</p><p>Maybe getting high could make him feel like himself again, but maybe himself is exactly the person he didn’t want to be.      </p><p>Something is very wrong with him, he knows. This odd feeling has happened before, but it’s always just as scary. One moment, it is 9:36 and the next it is 9:58. Time is moving erratically languid in one moment and non-existent in the next. He needs to go to sleep. Reset his mind and wake up refreshed tomorrow. Sleep always makes things feel a little better, but T.K. can’t get his mind calm enough for slumber. Sleep requires focus and lasts about ten minutes at most, and T.K. can’t even will himself to turn off the light. He’s terrified of the shadows that the dark will bring.</p><p>T.K. hates how vacant he feels. It’s better than thinking about his day, anything is, but it still makes him want to do something. Maybe go out for a run, but he can’t do that because he already worked out so much that he could barely get from his bed to his couch, but he makes the long journey anyway because he needs a change of scenery, even if it isn’t much of a change at all. The walls were still too pale, and the furniture was still too hard and scratchy against his skin, even through his clothes.</p><p>He wishes there was someone here that he could talk to or someone who would talk to him. He needs something to tether him to reality and remind him that he still exists. He can’t handle being alone anymore. He needs to see another human, needs to be told he’s still alive. He wants to know that he’s still T.K. He hates himself for needing so much reassurance and for being so needy, but he’ll go crazy without it. He’s a social butterfly. Being alone is crushing.</p><p>He should call his dad, but he punches in the number of the one other person in Texas who he’s told about his substance issues. He isn’t sure why he does it. He can’t think of a better way to scare away the guy you’re interested in, but unless he wants to worry his dad, who has enough on his plate, there’s no one else. No one else who he could call without giving his whole stupid backstory, and he doesn’t want to explain about that. He’ll have some explaining to do with Carlos, but at least, he won’t have to start from scratch.</p><p>T.K. listens as his phone dials. By the second  ring, he is contemplating hanging up, worried about bothering Carlos, but by the time the fifth ring comes, a deep voice hits his ears. “T.K. what’s up?” Carlos’ voice is distant, muffled by a sound that T.K. can’t make out. A T.V. maybe.</p><p>“I just thought we could hang out a bit.” T.K. could hear the shakiness in his own voice, and the almost robotic quality to it fit his state of mind.</p><p>“Are you at home?” T.K. nodded, not thinking to verbally give an answer. “T.K.?” Carlos asked after a long silence.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m here.” He was somewhere, that was for sure, but he didn’t feel like he was where he was supposed to be.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Carlos asked, voice startlingly gentle.</p><p>“I’m fine,” T.K. insists even though he’s terrified about whatever is happening in his head. He wants to know how to fix it, but he can’t put that on Carlos.</p><p>Carlos doesn’t seem to believe him, “Do you need me to call someone? Your dad? I can—”</p><p>“No, no. Don’t do that,” T.K. cuts in. “Never mind. Forget I called.”</p><p>“It’s okay. I’m glad you called. I’ll be over there as soon as I can, okay?”</p><p>“You don’t have to,” T.K. insists.</p><p>“I know, but I want to.” T.K. wants to see him too despite the part of him that thought letting someone he liked into his crazy world was stupid.</p><p>“Don’t do anything… just stay safe.”</p><p>“I’m not going to do anything stupid.”</p><p>“I know. I have to hang up now, but I’ll be there soon. I’ll see you in a bit.”</p><p>“Okay. See you then,” T.K. says before hanging up. He puts his phone beside him and jiggles his foot to release the nervous energy building inside him.  </p><p>It only took twenty minutes for Carlos to get there, and as he waited, T.K. lost track of time while sitting quietly on the couch, trying to get his mind back to normal. As hear hears a knock at the door, he’s still spaced out, but manages to get up and swing open the door.</p><p>“How did you get here so fast?” Carlos’ house is more than twenty minutes away, so he either was speeding a lot or not at home.</p><p>“I was out already. With Michelle,” Carlos explained, slightly out of breath.</p><p>“You could’ve told me you were busy,” T.K. replies, feeling a flash of anger that is quickly muted.</p><p>“I told Michelle it was important. She understands.”</p><p>“It wasn’t urgent or anything. I would have understood if you said no.”</p><p> “Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m not in danger or anything.”</p><p>“You don’t sound like yourself. Your voice is flat.”</p><p>“It feels like I’m not real, and I want to feel something again.”</p><p>“This like when you were at the police station.”</p><p>T.K. shakes his head. That had been similar but not the same. “I feel dead, but I’m not, am I?”</p><p>Carlos looks up at T.K., brown eyes soft. He puts his hand over T.K.’s, “You’re not.” Carlos swallows. “What do you mean when you say you feel dead?”</p><p>Pulling his hand from Carlos’, T.K. wiggled his fingers and flipped his hands over to inspect his palms. “I keep looking at my hands, but they don’t feel like they belong to me. I feel like I’m a ghost.”</p><p>Carlos goes silent a moment, searching for the right thing to say. Carlos’ voice is tight and so quiet T.K. isn’t even sure he actually heard it. “Did you take something? We can handle it if you did.”</p><p>T.K. shoots up from the couch, “What? No.” He clenches his fists, feeling a defensive pang through the numbness. He’d never hurt Carlos, but as he digs his fingernails into his palms, he feels some release. He can’t feel pain, but he can distantly feel the contact against his skin, which grounds him even when his head is so floaty. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says, pushing his fingernails in further.</p><p>Reaching out, Carlos pries each hand open and rubs his callused fingers over the crescent moons indented in T.K.’s hands, and T.K. knows the touch should send a surge of electricity through him. He wishes it could zap him back to life, but it doesn’t. He still feels chilled to the bone. “Okay, I believe you. Please sit down.” Carlos eases T.K. to the couch and wraps a blanket from the back of the couch around T.K.’s shoulders. “You’re shivering.”</p><p>T.K. didn’t have the energy to fight. “I wanted to take something. I want to, but I didn’t. I won’t.”</p><p>“Is there something I can do to help?” Carlos asks, a helpless expression filling his face.</p><p>“Maybe it’s best if I’m alone.” T.K. feels embarrassment redden his cheeks as he thinks about the situation that he’s put himself in. He hates Carlos seeing him like this. He wonders if this is insanity. He’s losing his grip on reality, and he’s letting a hot, sweet, perfect guy watch. No one in their right mind would do that. He must be crazier than he thought.</p><p>“Ty, why don’t I just sit here awhile? We don’t have to talk, but I want to make sure you’re okay.”</p><p>“You think if you leave, I’ll do something crazy.”</p><p>“No, that’s not what I think.  I think it sucks to go through a hard time alone.”</p><p>“You’re too nice.” T.K. doesn’t feel how stiff his body goes when he realizes that Carlos cares. It doesn’t make sense that anyone unrelated to him could worry about what happens to him.</p><p>“T.K., stop.” Carlos’ voice breaks through T.K.’s thoughts.</p><p>He feels panicked for a moment. “Stop what?” He can’t think of anything he’s doing wrong. Other than being a general wreck.</p><p>“Digging your nails into your palms. You’re doing it again.”</p><p>T.K. unclenches his hands. “I didn’t notice.” He looks at his palms and the marks are deeper than they were before.</p><p>“You’re bleeding.”</p><p>“Barely,” T.K. says and Carlos gets up and grabs a wet washcloth from the bathroom. As Carlos wipes off his hands, T.K. says, “You don’t have to do that. They’re not that bad,” but the water feels good against his skin as it stings and leaves a cool trail of dampness.</p><p>“With all the dirt on your fingernails they could get infected.”</p><p>T.K. shrugs. “Whatever. I don’t really care either way.” Because he really doesn’t. It doesn’t much matter what happens to him or how he feels. It’s all just a shitty whirlpool of junk that makes him feel like the worst person alive. He could act like a cocky asshole sometimes, but other times, T.K. really hated himself.</p><p>“Do you want to talk about what’s wrong?”</p><p>T.K. couldn’t help the bitter laugh that came out of him. “I’ve been trying not to think at all.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s time to try something new.” Carlos was rubbing circles in his back and running his fingers up and down T.K.’s arm. “You don’t have to say anything, but it might help.”</p><p>T.K. sighed. “I just want to sleep and never wake up.”</p><p>“T.K….” Carlos’ voice trails off. “That’s worrying to hear.”</p><p>“Not like that. I don’t want to… I wouldn’t do that to my dad. I’m not that selfish. I’m just tired. Really tired, too tired to kill myself.” He wasn’t going to do anything drastic, but if he were to be hit by a bus, he wasn’t sure he’d care much.</p><p>“Okay, but if you weren’t tired? What would you do then?”</p><p>“Nothing. I’m always tired.” And it wasn’t the kind of tired that you could sleep way. It was hardwired in the chemistry of your brain and took a lot of time to change. He’s trying to do better, and he’s going to therapy, but sometimes, he’s still so low. He’s numb and sad and angry and scared. Now, he doesn’t even feel human. He’s just a shadow, trailing behind this empty person he hardly knows, and it sucks. It’s not fair that he’s faded. He’s not a perfect person, he sure isn’t, but he doesn’t know what he did to deserve a brain that doesn’t function as it should. It feels like he’s being punished. He wonders if maybe he’s a shitty person who deserves all the bad and none of the good. He couldn’t save the little girl and maybe it was only just that he was tortured for his failure.</p><p>“T.K., do you want to hurt yourself?”</p><p>“I’m in therapy.”</p><p>“That doesn’t answer my question.”</p><p>“I’m having a bad night. I’m not like this all the time. Sometimes, I have a personality, but other times, I’m a waste of space.”</p><p>“You’re never a waste of space.”</p><p>“I let a little girl die today.”</p><p>“What happened?”</p><p>“I didn’t get to her soon enough. The smoke inhalation killed her.” T.K.’s voice is clipped. He doesn’t want to talk about it, but he couldn’t stop the words from rolling off his tongue.</p><p>“It wasn’t your fault. We do the best we can to save lives, but we’re not gods. We can’t control who lives and dies. We can only do as much as we can to push for life.”</p><p>“She died in my arms.”</p><p>“That’s awful. I’m sorry that happened.”</p><p>“It’s not fair that she died, and I lived.” She was just a child. Young and precocious, clutching her teddy bear with such tenderness. T.K. can’t remember ever being that innocent. Maybe there had always been darkness inside him.</p><p>“I’m not sure—”</p><p>“I’ve been given too many chances while people who deserve them more don’t get them. I’m an addict and a basket case. I can’t handle the shit life throws my way. Yet, I’m still here. I’m a shell of a person, but I’m here. I feel dead, but I’m here. I can’t even do my job properly, but I’m here.”</p><p>“You deserve a life, Tyler.”</p><p>“So, did she!” T.K. would trade his own life in a heartbeat just to ensure that little girl could live one day more.</p><p>“I know. No kid should die. It’s awful when we can’t keep kids safe. But I need you to know that you deserve to be alive.”</p><p>T.K. looked down at his hands. “You don’t know me that well.”</p><p>“I know enough. I know you’d do anything for the people you love. I know you go out of your way to brighten other people’s days even when yours is shitty. I know you want everyone to feel okay being themselves. You don’t have to dig very far to see that you’re a guy who loves love. You’re the kind of person that people want to be around. You’d be so missed if you weren’t here.”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>“What can’t take a compliment?” Carlos teases, cracking a smile.</p><p>T.K. can’t help the grin that comes upon his face or the tears that brim in his eyes. “I don’t know why you’re so nice to me.”</p><p>“Did you not hear my speech? I don’t remember verbatim what I said, so if you didn’t hear it, I guess I’ll just have to think up some more reasons I think you’re great. The list could get pretty long.”</p><p>T.K. laughs, “Please don’t. I can’t take more compliments. My head will grow too big.”</p><p>“Fine. I’ll save them for later,” Carlos replied.</p><p>T.K. dropped his head on Carlos’ shoulder and the smell of cologne broke through his clogged senses. The world was still bleary, but hints of color were beginning to poke their heads through the gray. Carlos couldn’t make T.K. better. He couldn’t fix the miswiring of T.K.’s mind. He couldn’t save T.K. from himself, but Carlos is here. He’s present, and T.K.’s mind feels less heavy as he lets the weight of it fall on Carlos’ shoulder. It’s a relief to heat the soft breathing of Carlos and to feel the softness of his blue t-shirt. Mostly, it’s nice to be grounded.</p><p>“Thanks for being here,” T.K. says and his voice is quiet but doesn’t quiver.</p><p>Carlos presses his lips to T.K.’s forehead. “I’ll be here whenever you need me.”</p><p>“Let’s hope I don’t need you too much,” T.K. says, “but I think I might want you around a lot more.” He’s not ready for commitment. His life is still too chaotic for that, but he wants Carlos near him. He wants to someday feel ready to open his whole heart. Maybe that day isn’t today, but there’s a chance that tomorrow will be less blurry, less sad, less hopeless. Tomorrow might be better, and for now, that’ll have to be enough. Someday, a tomorrow will be good.                                                                                                        </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you liked this. Please feel free to leave your thoughts. I love reading them. You can find me at my tumblr Lonestarbabe if you'd like. Thanks for being so great and reading this.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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